During the days when the four beautiful green-blue eggs lay in the nest,
Mrs. Robin stayed quite closely at home. She said it was a very good
place, for she could keep her eggs warm and still see all that was
happening. The rail-end on which they had built was on the meadow side
of the fence, over the tallest grasses and the graceful stalks of
golden-rod. Here the Garter Snake drew his shining body through the
tangled green, and here the Tree Frog often came for a quiet nap.
Just outside the fence the milkweeds grew, with every broad, pale green
leaf slanting upward in their spring style. Here the Milkweed
Caterpillars fed, and here, too, when the great balls of tiny dull pink
blossoms dangled from the stalks, the Milkweed Butterflies hung all day
long. All the teams from the farm-house passed along the quiet,
grass-grown road, and those which were going to the farm as well. When
Mrs. Robin saw a team coming, she always settled herself more deeply
into her nest, so that not one of her brick-red breast feathers showed.
Then she sat very still, only turning her head enough to watch the team
as it came near, passed, and went out of sight down the road. Sometimes
she did not even have to turn her head, for if she happened to be facing
the road, she could with one eye watch the team come near, and with the
other watch it go away. No bird, you know, ever has to look at anything
with both eyes at once.
After the young Robins had outgrown their shells and broken and thrown
them off, they were naked and red and blind. They lay in a heap in the
bottom of the nest, and became so tangled that nobody but a bird could
tell which was which. If they heard their father or their mother flying
toward them, they would stretch up their necks and open their mouths.
Then each would have some food poked down his throat, and would lie
still until another mouthful was brought to him.
When they got their eyes open and began to grow more down, they were
good little Robins and did exactly as they were told. It was easy to be
good then, for they were not strong enough to want to go elsewhere, and
they had all they wanted to eat. At night their mother sat in the nest
and covered them with her soft feathers. When it rained she also did
this. She was a kind and very hard-working mother. Mr. Robin worked
quite as hard as she, and was exceedingly proud of his family.
But when their feathers began to grow, and each young Robin's sharp
quills pricked his brothers and sisters if they pushed against him, then
it was not so easy to be good. Four growing children in one little round
bed sometimes found themselves rather crowded. One night Mrs. Robin said
to her husband: "I am all tired out. I work as long as daylight lasts
getting food for those children, and I cannot be here enough to teach
them anything."
"Then they must learn to work for themselves," said Mr. Robin decidedly.
"They are surely old enough."
"Why, they are just babies!" exclaimed his wife. "They have hardly any
tails yet."
"They don't need tails to eat with," said he, "and they may as well
begin now. I will not have you get so tired for this one brood."
Mrs. Robin said nothing more. Indeed, there was nothing more to be
said, for she knew perfectly well that her children would not eat with
their tails if they had them. She loved her babies so that she almost
disliked to see them grow up, yet she knew it was right for them to
leave the nest. They were so large that they spread out over the edges
of it already, and they must be taught to take care of themselves before
it was time for her to rear her second brood.
The next morning all four children were made to hop out on to the rail.
Their legs were not very strong and their toes sprawled weakly around.
Sometimes they lurched and almost fell. Before leaving the nest they had
felt big and very important; now they suddenly felt small and young and
helpless. Once in a while one of them would hop feebly along the rail
for a few steps. Then he would chirp in a frightened way, let his head
settle down over his speckled breast, slide his eyelids over his eyes,
and wait for more food to be brought to him.
Whenever a team went by, the oldest child shut his eyes. He thought they
couldn't see him if he did that. The other children kept theirs open and
watched to see what happened. Their father and mother had told them to
watch, but the timid young Robin always shut his eyes in spite of that.
"We shall have trouble with him," said Mrs. Robin, "but he must be made
to do as he is told, even if he is afraid." She shut her bill very
tightly as she spoke, and Mr. Robin knew that he could safely trust the
bringing-up of his timid son to her.
Mrs. Robin talked and talked to him, and still he shut his eyes every
time that he was frightened. "I can't keep them open," he would say,
"because when I am frightened I am always afraid, and I can't be brave
when I am afraid."
"That is just when you must be brave," said his mother. "There is no use
in being brave when there is nothing to fear, and it is a great deal
braver to be brave when you are frightened than to be brave when you are
not." You can see that she was a very wise Robin and a good mother. It
would have been dreadful for her to let him grow up a coward.
At last the time came when the young birds were to fly to the ground and
hop across the road. Both their father and their mother were there to
show them how. "You must let go of the rail," they said. "You will never
fly in the world unless you let go of the rail."
Three of the children fluttered and lurched and flew down. The timid
young Robin would not try it. His father ordered and his mother coaxed,
yet he only clung more closely to his rail and said, "I can't! I'm
afraid!"
At last his mother said: "Very well. You shall stay there as long as
you wish, but we cannot stay with you."
Then she chirped to her husband, and they and the three brave children
went across the road, talking as they went. "Careful!" she would say.
"Now another hop! That was fine! Now another!" And the father fluttered
around and said: "Good! Good! You'll be grown-up before you know it."
When they were across, the parents hunted food and fed their three brave
children, tucking the mouthfuls far into their wide-open bills.
The timid little Robin on the fence felt very, very lonely. He was
hungry, too. Whenever he saw his mother pick up a mouthful of food, he
chirped loudly: "Me! Me! Me!" for he wanted her to bring it to him. She
paid no attention to him for a long time. Then she called: "Do you think
you can fly? Do you think you can fly? Do you think?"
The timid little Robin hopped a few steps and chirped but never lifted
a wing. Then his mother gave each of the other children a big mouthful.
The Robin on the fence huddled down into a miserable little bunch, and
thought: "They don't care whether I ever have anything to eat. No, they
don't!" Then he heard a rush of wings, and his mother stood before him
with a bunch in her bill for him. He hopped toward her and she ran away.
Then he sat down and cried. She hopped back and looked lovingly at him,
but couldn't speak because her bill was so full. Across the road the
Robin father stayed with his brave children and called out, "Earn it, my
son, earn it!"
The young Robin stretched out his neck and opened his bill--but his
mother flew to the ground. He was so hungry--so very, very hungry,--that
for a minute he quite forgot to be afraid, and he leaned toward her and
toppled over. He fluttered his wings without thinking, and the first he
knew he had flown to the ground. He was hardly there before his mother
was feeding him and his father was singing: "Do you know what you did?
Do you know what you did? Do you know?"
Before his tail was grown the timid Robin had become as brave as any of
the children, for, you know, after you begin to be brave you always want
to go on. But the Garter Snake says that Mrs. Robin is the bravest of
the family.
[Illustration]